


Image: sent

by MatildaSwan



Category: Holby City
Genre: Dinner dates, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, accidental nudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: Bernie's always been rubbish with technology, but it'd never gotten her into trouble before.Not like this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ktlsyrtis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/gifts).

> Jess prompted me w "first time they see each other in a state of undress" a million years ago and it spiraled from there. Now it's mostly finished sort of in time for Jess's birthday. Merry womb evacuation day, darling!

Bernie hates shopping, she really does. The lights and the change rooms and inconsistent sizes—she finds the whole thing tedious.

But it’s also a necessity, from time to time. To add a few things to her wardrobe each year, a new coat here, another shirt there; a fresh dress for a special occasion, when they come around every few years.

Which is why she spent her last day off in and out of change rooms, trying to find a dress to wear to Charlotte’s first conference appearance.

Because she wants to make an effort. Do more than just show up to an event where she gets to sit back and watch her daughter shine, and get a free meal out of it too.

So she buys a new dress, something simple but a bit slinky: midnight blue so dark it’s almost black with a high neck and a low back, skirt flowing just above her knees. She’ll have to shave, but it covers her scar without feeling frumpy.

It’s better than she hoped for, really.

It isn’t till the day of—when she pulls it out of the closet, makes sure it’s not rumpled—that she realises she hasn’t got a bra to go with it.

A pink sports bra might work on the ward, but it’s not going to cut it today. And she won’t risk taking someone’s eye out with a frozen left nipple. It has been frightfully cold recently.

So here she is, on her morning off, in the change room of a lingerie store. Trying not to stare at all the lace and frills and imagining women she shouldn’t in them.

It should be easier, given all the practice she’s had. But the thoughts are louder now, more tangible. Now she has a point of reference and no husband to make her feel guilty about it. She’s been thinking about women more and more.

One woman in particular.

And she wishes she didn’t, because Serena is her friend, such a close friend, and she wouldn’t want to ruin that.

Even if she does want Serena, sometimes—late at night when there’s nothing to distract her like a juicy surgery or a mountain of paperwork—like _that._

_Enough_, she reprimands herself, grabbing another bra from the rack in what she supposes is her size and heads towards the change room. _Focus, Wolfe._ Focus!

The discard pile has grown depressingly large when her phone pings.

It’s Charlotte, asking if she’s free. If she’d like to come over early, help Charlotte finish polishing her presentation.

Bernie knows a cry for help when she sees it.

She looks in the mirror and decides to call it a day. This one fits fine, and she’d rather spend time with her daughter anyway.

She taps out a quick reply, says she’son her way, and hits send. Hits the home button as she reaches behind her to snap the clasp free (and, unbeknownst to her, opens the camera), pulls it off one handed (snapping a photo in the process), before dropping the phone back onto the bench.

She pulls her shirt back on and wonders about Serena, how they’re doing on the ward without her. Wonders out loud if she should text Serena, just to be sure they’re alright.

‘I’ll call her instead,’ she mumbles to herself, slipping her phone back into pocket, when she gets back to the car. So she knows she doesn’t have to worry.

Doesn’t hear Siri open her contacts, or the sent message tone, as her wayward phone sends a candid to the one person always on Bernie’s mind.

*

Across town, another phone pings: sitting face up at the edge of the desk, illuminating the corner of the stray pile of paperwork.

Serena sighs, happy to be distracted. Perks up when she sees it’s from Bernie. Smiles fondly, wondering when the technologically illiterate woman learnt how to send photos.

Opens it, and almost drops her phone.

She’s glad she was already sitting, else her legs would’ve given out and her phone likely smashed on the floor.

A little like the carefully constructed barrier between her and what she’s been feeling for Bernie these last few weeks. The want she’s been doing her best not to think about since shuddering awake one morning last week, twitching and gasping and breathless, still thinking about golden hair and long limbs and nimble fingers sunk deep inside her.

Serena sits back in her chair and finally admits it.

She fancies the pants off Bernie Wolfe: her colleague, co-lead, close friend—_best _friend, really. And now, apparently, crush, if her own body’s reaction to the curve of a breast is any indication,.

Oh dear. 

_But,_ she thinks,_ it seems like Bernie might fancy her too_. Enough to get her kit off, at any rate.

_She made the first move,_ Serena reasons. _She wants me._ She blinks, giddy, a giggle bursting from her lips. Her hand flutters to her chest, playing with the pendant around her neck. _She wants me too!_

She’s still trying to figure out how to reply—a flirty text, a photo in return? She’s at work, that would hardly be professional—when Bernie calls her.

She almost drops the phone on the ground. Again.

She answers it, blushing fiercely. Gathers her wits, reminders herself she’s a strong, capable woman who could charm the spots of a leopard if she so desired. Reeling in an apparently already interested party should be a piece of cake. Tries not to think of eating and Bernie in such close proximity.

Squeezes her thighs together despite herself.

*

Serena’s voice is warm and happy on the other end of the phone.‘You checking up on us already? Worried we can’t handle things without you.’

‘Something like that,’ Bernie replies, corners of her mouth curling upwards. She can’t keep the warmth from creeping in, it’s just the effect Serena has on her. ‘More letting you know Charlotte’s just rung needing my help, so I’m going off the grid.’

‘Is everything alright?’ Serena voice is filled with concern and something flips behind Bernie’s breast bone.

She’s never known anyone to care so quickly, so_ fully,_ the way Serena does.

‘Yes, everything’s fine. She’s just nervous.’

‘Ah.’ Bernie can hear her eyes sparkling, warm with the knowledge that sometimes only a mother’s comfort will do. ‘Wish her luck. And don’t worry about us, I’m sure we’ll manage.’

‘Course you will,’ she says with no small amount of affection. She’s about to say goodbye when Serena blurts out:

‘Come over for dinner, tomorrow.’ Bernie frowns, because Serena sounds breathless all of a sudden. ‘That is, would you like to? If you’re free, I mean,’ she rushes on, and it still doesn’t sound right. ‘I’d like to hear about Charlotte’s presentation,’ she adds, much more like herself.

Bernie keeps frowning. She’s not sure why Serena would be nervous about dinner, it’s not like they haven’t eaten together before. Usually it’s a restaurant close by after a long shift, when chips from Albie’s isn’t enough. They’ve even eaten at Serena’s once or twice, after a particularly draining surgery when the idea of being around anyone else makes Bernie’s skin crawl till she wants to claw it off.

But they’ve all been impromptu, off the cuff and unplanned, and something about the scheduling makes it feels different. It must be different, otherwise why would Serena sound so strange? 

In any case, it sounds lovely, sharing her daughter’s success with her best friend. In fact, she can’t think of a nicer way to end the weekend.

She’s probably imagining things, anyway.

Bernie agrees readily, promises to bring dessert despite Serena’s assurances she need only bring herself, and hangs up the phone with a smile.

Keeps smiling as she punches the address into the GPS and pulls out of the carpark. Merges into traffic thinking how lucky she is, to have found a friend in Serena. Even if she can’t have anything more.

_Especially_ if she can’t have anything more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still the merriest of birthdays to Jess <3

Bernie pulls up outside Serena’s semi-detached right on time. Knocks on the front door and smoothes down the crisp white button up she’d worn to make a bit of an effort. Hears a rustle on the other side of the door, tightens her grip on the bottle of shiraz Serena insisted she didn’t need to bring, then promptly forgets how to breathe.

Because Serena’s wearing a dress that hugs her _everywhere_ and deep red lipstick pulled wide in a blinding smile and Bernie’s only human, after all.

‘Come in, come in,’ she says, brushing a kiss against Bernie’s cheek, and Bernie clings to the bottle for dear life, trying desperately not to drop it.

‘Hi,’ she manages, and lets herself be crowded inside.

She brandishes the bottle of wine towards Serena, praying she doesn’t notice the tremor of her hands; hangs up her coat, kicks off her shoes, and follows her up the hallway.

Bernie knows she’ll have to spend the rest of the evening behaving, but can’t help noticing the sway of Serena’s hips as they walk towards the kitchen. So she lets herself look, just for moment, and thinks it’s shame they’re not going out tonight, that she won’t get to show off all the effort Serena made to look so lovely.

She stamps the thought out as quickly as it appears because Serena isn’t her to do anything with. Not like that.

‘Dinner won’t be long,’ Serena says, putting the wine on the bench and moving towards the pan bubbling on the stovetop. ‘Make yourself at home.’

Instead, Bernie stands in the middle of the kitchen. Wrings her hands a little. Feels her shoulders tense. ‘How can I help?’

Serena glances over her shoulder, takes one look at Bernie’s rigid stance and points to the top drawer. ‘Corkscrew,’ she says, then reaches up into a cupboard to grab a pair of glasses. The hem of her dress rises with her, revealing thick, creamy white thighs.

Bernie’s mouth goes dry and her cheeks heat. She whips round and opens the drawer before she gets caught staring. Looks down at the most organised utensil drawer she’s ever seen and smiles.

_Of course it is_, she thinks fondly, retrieving the corkscrew.

Serena puts the glasses on the bench beside Bernie elbow, brushing against her, ever so lightly—breast and hip, oh _god_ even her thigh against Bernie’s side—and she’s glad her hands are occupied with the cork because lord knows what she’d be tempted to do if they could roam free.

She sets the wine aside to breathe and retreats to a comfortable looking bar stool on the other side of the island.

If she just so happens to end up with a wonderful vantage point to watch Serena dance around the kitchen, moving from the spice rack to the stove top to the pantry, then who is she to complain.

‘So how’s Charlotte?’ Serena prompts after a few minutes, and Bernie can’t believe she was so busy gawping she forgot the entire reason she’s here. Grins at her own folly and the memory of Charlotte’s success, and recounts the highlights of her daughter’s success.

‘She’s good! Relieved the conference is over and giving herself the weekend to relax before she moves onto the next big project.’

‘So, a few wild nights out?’ Serena asks, voice low and teasing. 

Bernie brays, caught off guard. ‘No, no, nothing like that. She’s more of a dinner party at home sort anyway.’

‘So that’s where all the cooking genes in the Wolfe family went!’

Bernie feigns outrage. ‘I’m a perfectly adequate cook!’

‘Aren’t we all?’ Serena quips, eyebrow raised. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘And speaking of,’ she adds, scooping a spoonful of sauce to taste. She hums, wiggles her head from side to side while she thinks, then nods decisively. Scoops another spoonful and holds it out Bernie, cupping her hand underneath to catch the drips. ‘What do you think?’

Bernie leans forward, can’t help noticing just how intimate it feels. Reminds herself that it’s platonic, that this closeness in a friendship is normal, that it should be enough for her.

She blows on the spoon to cool it before sipping. Can't help moaning because it's absolutely delicious 

Serena looks at her expectantly. 

‘It’s good,’ she says, hand in front of her mouth as she licks at her top lip. ‘_So_ good.’

Serena beams, looking a little proud of herself. Drops the spoon in the sink. ‘Doesn’t need anything else?’ 

‘No,’ Bernie assures her, shaking her head. ‘Perfect, just as it is.’ 

*

Dinner is delicious, but the company makes it a feast. Because Serena is flirting, the way she always does, and Bernie has to remind herself to breathe between mouthfuls.

Of course it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just how Serena is. But they’re alone together, and Serena looks so beautiful in the candlelight it makes Bernie’s head a little fuzzy, and everything feels a bit more charged than normal.

Bernie reasons, where’s the harm in letting herself enjoy this, in taking the moment for what it is: the gift of Serena’s company, time she wants to share with Bernie. Where she feels safe enough to share this part of herself.

So she drinks up the attention, even pushes back a little. Delights in how bright Serena’s eyes gleam when she does.

She makes it through dinner just fine; it’s dessert that’s the problem.

It’s caramel and chocolate mousse. Which Serena made. From scratch.

Bernie blinks down at the swathes of cream and can’t believe her eyes. Looks up to see Serena looking a little shy, hand fluttering up to her pendant as she mumbles something about a cookbook of her mother’s she found in the attic.

‘I thought this would be a good chance to try out something new,' she says with a sweet tiny smile that makes Bernie’s toes tingle. ‘And I know you have a sweet tooth.’

It takes everything in her not stand up and kiss Serena right on the mouth.

Because it’s caramel and chocolate mousse that Serena made, from scratch, just for Bernie.

‘Thank you,’ she breathes out, her whole body sufficing with a dangerous kind of warmth. Not the nice, slightly illicit kind that comes with harmless flirting between friends; this is the all consuming, dangerous kind that gets in the way of things. The kind that ruins things.

Bernie won’t ruin this, like she has before. She won’t do that to Serena, to herself. She refuses too.

So she keeps her eyes to herself while she shovels cream into her mouth. Doesn’t even look up when Serena moans around a mouthful, for all she can image the fluttering of her eyelids,the bliss on her face, and it fills her with a whole other dangerous kind of wanting. Keeps everything stamped down deep inside till she’s finished.

Only then does she let herself look up again. Just as Serena puts down her spoon and settles back into her chair with a smug, satisfied smile on her face that is just so damn _attractive_.

And Bernie knows she needs to get out.

She stands abruptly, clears the table before Serena can protest—she cooked so it’s only right that Bernie clean after all—and retreats to the kitchen, desperate for a moment to clear her head lest she do something stupid slide right into Serena’s lap and kiss her senseless and never stop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tis finished! Thank you to everyone who's read and commented so far! And another merry birth to Jess cos this is finished and also it's Halloween and that's basically every Oct baby's second birthday anyway <3

The dishwasher is mostly stacked when footsteps start padding towards the kitchen.

‘Bernie, what are you doing?’

She looks up and immediately knows something wrong. There’s a crinkle in Serena’s brow, a dullness in her eyes. The tension is rolling off her in waves, and Bernie knows it’s all her fault, that she’s ruining everything with her own stray wanting.

She hates herself for it.

‘I’m cleaning up,’ Bernie replies and it’s not a lie, even if it’s only half the truth.

‘No, not that!’ Serena snaps, hands on her hips. The kitchen doesn’t feel big enough for the two of them and everything else. ‘I mean the burning hot and cold. You started this with that bloody tit pic for, god’s sake!’ Her voice turns soft, like she’s pleading. ‘So why won’t you kiss me?’

Bernie blinks.

Stares.

Blinks again.

‘Kiss…you…’ she trails off, jaw slack, eyes starting to burn. Serena’s talking like she _wants_ too, like she’s disappointed Bernie’s hasn’t…

And that can’t be, because that means—

But, how did she start this?

‘What picture? What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t play games, Bernie,’ Serena snaps, grabbing her phone off the bench and unlocking it in one swift motion. She taps the screen a few times before brandishing a photo: grainy and a bit blurred, but unmistakably the side of a right breast. ‘See!’

Bernie’s eyes flick to the top of the screen. Sees her name as the saved contact.

The ground moves beneath her.

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t,’ she stammers, wide eyed and petrified. ‘I never meant to send that to you.’

The silence that follows is deafening.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t mean to send that to you. I didn’t even know I’d taken it, I don’t know how it happened.’ She finally makes eye contact with Serena, already praying for forgiveness. ‘I’m so sorry.’

For a few moments Serena just stares.

‘You mean you didn’t. You don’t want…’ she trails off, then buries her face in her hands. ‘Oh god.’

And Bernie still doesn’t understand, because Serena seems almost _embarrassed. _As if…

‘Wait. This is why you invited me to dinner?’ Bernie asks, pointing at the phone. ‘You thought I was interested?’

‘Yes, obviously,’ Serena snaps. Looks up at the ceiling, hand on her necklace. ‘Can the ground swallow me up now.’

‘You wanted me back?’ Bernie asks, something bright and terrifying blooming in her chest.

It feels a lot like hope.

Serena huffs. ‘We’ve established it was all a giant mistake,’ she says, turning to leave the room.

Bernie grabs at her elbow, desperate to stop her running. ‘But you wanted me, when you thought I'd sent _that _on purpose?’ She takes a tentative step forward, drops her hands as she lowers her mouth near Serena’s ear to whisper, ‘You want me?’

Serena inhales, sharp; breathes out with the tiniest of sobs. Then nods, just slightly first, then faster, surer. Resolved and certain. 

‘You want me,’ Bernie repeats, because she still can’t quite believe it. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Serena says, turning around. ‘Bernie, I’m so sorry, I thought—’ 

Bernie slants her mouth across Serena’s, swallowing an apology she never wants to hear. 

And Serena kisses back, melting against Bernie as she buries her hands in golden curls—phone falling, forgotten, to the ground—as Bernie pushes her against the bench, to keep them both upright, to remind herself this is _real._

Bernie breaks away, breathless. Rests her forehead on Serena’s, trying to take it all in. Looks into her sparkling eyes and has to kiss her again, just has too. 

Serena pulls her closer, desperate to remove what little space still exists between the two of them. It still isn’t close enough, and she huffs in frustration. 

Bernie reaches down, skimming her hips to grip her thighs; hauls Serena up onto to countertop, palms stroking overthick, silk covered thighs. 

The change of angles is_ heavenly_: Serena sitting slightly taller, pressed tight, looking down at her with hooded eyelids and the loveliest smile Bernie’s ever seen.

She feels humbled, _hungry_, still processing. Lets her body suffuse with all this wanting, with the trust Serena’s already placed in her, and feels herself opening up. 

‘Tried so hard, never thought you’d want me,’ she confesses, kissing over Serena’s neck, licking at the softest, sweetest skin she’s ever tasted. ‘_God, _I want you.’

Serena just moans, tilts her head to the side, granting access to pepper soft bites along her jaw. Bernie can feel her shaking, trembling thighs braced around hers. Nips just below her ear and Serena gasps.

‘Stop, stop,’ she breathes out, pushing at Bernie’s shoulders. Her palms burns through the material of her shirt.

Bernie pulls back, trying to push away the disappointment. She should have knows she was asking too much.

She stares at the ground, trying to pull herself together, till a finger under her chin tilts her head up.

Serena looks at her with bright, shining eyes, pupils blown wide and wanting.

‘Take me to bed,’ she begs, ‘Please.’

Bernie feels it rip right through her.

She breathes deep, reaches forward, hands shaking. Helps Serena off the bench, places her feet firmly on the ground before tangling their fingers together. She can feel her trembling too.

‘Lead the way,’ she says with more confidence than she feels, and follows Serena up the stairs, hands intertwined the whole way.

The bedroom door’s barely shut behind them when Serena moulds herself against Bernie, pushing her against the wood. Bernie clings to Serena, handfuls of her hips in palms as they kiss and kiss and _kiss_. 

But soon it’s not enough, and Bernie walks them, slowly, towards the bed. Into the moonlight streaming in through a crack in the curtain.

Serena’s even more radiant, kiss bruised and beautiful in the dark.

‘Please, Bernie,’ she begs again, and Bernie unwraps her slowly, reverently: skims her fingertips along her arms as she pulls down the straps of her dress, kisses over her neck as she walks around her, runs her lips down her back as she unzips, inch by inch.

The dress falls, pooling around Serena’s feet, her underwear not far behind.

She wraps her arms around Serena’s waist and pulls her close, plastering her front to Serena’s back. Skims over her thighs, her belly, up to her chest, cupping her breast. She runs a thumb over a nipple and Serena moans, deep in her throat.

Bernie thinks it’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard.

Does it again, just to be sure.

Serena turns in her arms, eager hands working at buttons and belts to strip Bernie quickly, till they’re both standing naked in the moonlight.

Bernie breathes deep, reaches out a hand; Serena smiles, slides her palm across Bernie’s and lets herself be led to bed.

Bernie presses her onto the mattress, straddles her hips, lowers her mouth.

She thought Serena sounded sweet before, but it’s nothing, _nothing_ to the symphony of whimpers and groans she makes as Bernie takes a nipple in her mouth, scraping her teeth over the pink nubs.

‘I dreamt of you,’ Serena gasps out, and Bernie lifts her head. Gazes up at Serena’s lovely face, flicking her tongue across a pebbled areola. ‘It’s when I realised what I’d been feeling, what I wanted.’ She reaches down to cup Bernie’s cheek tenderly. ‘What I want with _you_.’

Bernie heart thumps in her chest, hope thrumming through to her toes. It’s a huge conversation, large and terrifying, but they have to start somewhere.

‘Tell me,’ she prompts, sliding up to nibble on Serena’s neck, hands grazing the sides of her stomach**.** She still can’t quite believe Serena wants her, has _been_ wanting her, the same way Bernie tried so hard to pretend she didn’t. She has to hear: ‘Tell me, Serena. What did you dream of?’

‘Your fingers,’ she admits, reaching down to bring them close to her mouth. Bernie’s jaw goes slack as Serena’s tongue flicks out over the pad of her thumb. ‘Inside me,’ she whispers against Bernie’s skin, scraping her teeth over sensitive flesh.

Bernie almost growls, devours Serena’s mouth as her hand moves to the apex of her thighs.

‘Like this?’ she asks, easing inside as Serena moans, pressing herself against the length of Bernie’s body.

‘Yes, _god_ I…’ she stammers, hands reaching for Bernie’s hair once more, anchoring her as Bernie starts moving within her.

Bernie quickly builds speed as the grip in her hair tighten, pulling at the scalp till she’s moaning into the side of Serena breast.

She shifts, changing the angle of her wrist and curling her fingers till Serena’s whimpering, hips jerking with every stroke.

‘You…in me—feels so good, Bernie, I—’ she sobs, rolling her hips in time with Bernie’s movement. ‘Harder,’ she begs. ‘More, please, Bernie.’

Bernie eases another finger inside her, works her hand deeper. Gives her everything she can, moving till her wrist burns, till she Serena beings to flutter around her fingers.

A low pulse rolls through Bernie, too.

Serena clutches at her shoulders, shuddering again and again, till her body relaxes. She slumps, breathless, against Bernie’s chest.

Bernie gathers her up, holds her close, hand sweeping up and down her back, content to stay just as they are till they fall asleep.

Then she realises Serena’s shaking.

She pulls back to look at her face, worried she’s crying; Serena looks at her with the brightest eyes, a smile on her face.

‘Just like that,’ she whispers. Cranes her neck to steal a kiss and another, till they both lose track of time. 

Eventually, Serena pulls back to hover just out of reach.

‘I want to feel you,’ she says, breath puffing against Bernie’s cheek. Her hand flutters to the pendant still hanging around her neck as she looks up through lowered lashes. ‘Can I?’

Bernie nods, elated and eager and only a little bit terrified.

Serena reaches down, nimble fingers spread her apart, and her eyes go wide.

‘Bernie,’ she breathes, wonder in her voice. ‘You’re so _wet_.’

Bernie just moans, the tips of Serena’s fingers setting her whole body on fire. She tries not to come too quickly, to make this last, to keep Serena’s fingers moving over her,_ in_ her, for as long as possible.

Then Serena begs to see her come, low voice in her hear and hot breath against her her neck.

She shatters, white and blinding. Comes too with Serena’s hand still moving inside her, quickly working her up again.

‘Again,’ Serena begs, ‘God, Bernie. Let me see you again, please.’

Bernie whimpers at the need on her voice. How could she say no?

So she goes willingly when Serena rolls her onto her back, till she’s splayed out on the mattress with a hand still moving between her legs.

Serena straddles a thigh, pressing down. The wet against Bernie’s skin makes her shiver. She pushes up against Serena, hands falling to her hips, rocking in time with her thrusts, eyes drinking in the sight of Serena looming above her, till she falls apart and takes Bernie along with her.

Serena drops forward, into Bernie’s waiting arms. Gasps into her neck, smiling against her skin, as Bernie rolls them on to their sides, legs still tangled together.

Serena snuffled happily, burrowing into Bernie and seemingly content to drift off.

Bernie pulls back. ‘Serena, I—’

‘Tomorrow, Bernie,’ she cuts her off, smiling, a little lopsided,. Her eyes already half closed as she promises, ‘We’ll talk about everything tomorrow, okay?’

Something unfurls in Bernie, and she sags into the mattress. ‘Tomorrow,’ she agrees, pulling Serena closer, pressing a kiss to her scalp.

She breathes slowly, evenly, pressed close till she falls asleep, the two of them tangled up in each other till morning breaks.


End file.
